


Never Trust The Living!

by harleygirl2648



Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Adopted Abigail Hobbs, Afterlife, Beetlejuice AU, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Dark Abigail Hobbs, Death, Domestic Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, F/M, Ghost Hannibal Lecter, Ghost Will Graham, Happy Murder Family, Haunted Houses, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Murder Husbands, Sassy Will Graham, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 19:04:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16414130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harleygirl2648/pseuds/harleygirl2648
Summary: Beetlejuice AU: Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter signed up for eternity together, so that's what they have to deal with, stuck in their house after their untimely demises. Until the worst people possible move into their house, and tear it apart.Turns out, death might be a problem, and not the solution.





	Never Trust The Living!

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! I'm back with more fics! I wrote the inverse of this fic about a year ago but I just HAD to put a different spin on it this year after I got the chance to see the Beetlejuice musical in DC! Enjoy!
> 
> It's showtime!

The fire roared in the fireplace as an ornate clock ticked above it on the mantelpiece.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

The rug on the floor is new, the couch is new, the chairs are antique. The second guest room just had new linens put in. Guests were not expected, but the linens were new and it would be a shame to keep them in the closet to gather dust. There’s a bowl with chipped paint and scratches on the glaze, but it’s fine, it’s a bowl for the dog.

_We don’t have a dog._

_Yet.  You promised me._

The guest room has new towels, royal purple. No one is staying in the guest room or sleeping on the bed, but the towels are new and hung up on brass racks. It’s not questioned.

The new curtains in the room match the towels, but nobody except the owners see them. The window housing them looks out into deep forest, occasional glimpses of deer or birds darting through the trees.

_Hey, you don’t need to put the rug in there._

_It needs something over the hardwood floors. Besides, it complements the dresser, the new handles you put in are perfect._

_Then why didn’t we put it in our room?....hmm?_

_I wanted it in here._

 

_….then put in the rug. Should I start on the attic?_

_It can wait another day. No rush._

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

_Do you really think - one day-_

_One day, I think so._

_I just don’t think I’m ready, even able to be one, you know? I know - you think about it sometimes, I don’t know. Just - let’s start with a dog before we think about-_

 

 

Suddenly, the front door blew open in a gust of rain and wind, and Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham stepped into their house, drenched to the bone and coughing.

“Are you alright, Will?” Hannibal asked, retrieving the towels from the downstairs bathroom, passing one to Will. Will nodded, halfheartedly drying his hair as Hannibal rolled his sleeves up on his long-sleeved shirt. He still had his vest on, but his suit jacket had been left in the car. Will had forgone a coat completely, his own sleeves rolled up. He was now regretting that decision because -

“God, I’m freezing,” Will said, rubbing the strange looseness in his neck, Hannibal was also feeling a chill when he caught sight of the fire still going strong.

“Will, did you light that before we left?” he asked, walking into the living room. Will followed behind him.

“No, I thought you did,” he said, leaning up against the mantle. Hannibal began to warm his hand before it when Will asked him, sounding confused, “Do you - remember getting back here?”

“No, I remember our car skidding on the road and veering into a-” He was cut off by Will suddenly reaching out and snatching his hand out of the fire. They were both confronted with the sight of two fingers on fire. Will met Hannibal’s eyes before blowing the fire out.

He said as evenly as possible, “Did you feel that?”

“No.”

“So you don’t remember anything after that tree, or-” They both noticed the mirror above the mantle, the one they were standing in front of. They did not appear in that mirror. Even when Hannibal picked up the stag figure to the side and moved it across the mirror, it only captured the stag.

 _Interesting,_ Hannibal thought, pressing on his chest through his vest and feeling splintered bones moving and crunching under his touch but no heartbeat to speak of.

“Do you see that?” Will’s nervous voice interrupting his train of thought. Hannibal looked up to see Will turning his head to right, and then kept turning, turning, until he was facing completely around. “That! - over there.” He spun his head back to its normal position and gripped his own neck with both hands, eyes widening. Hannibal made it easier and walked over to where Will had been looking, picking up a book that was not in his collection.

_Handbook For the Recently Deceased_

“So,” Will said in a terribly false calm tone of voice, running a hand down the side of his face. “We didn’t survive that car crash.”

“It would appear so,” Hannibal responded, opening the front cover of the book and scanning over the table of contents. He sat down on the couch to begin reading, and Will sat beside him, stretching his legs out on the ottoman. When, quite suddenly, a thought occurred to him.

“We left him in the trunk, didn’t we?”

Will raised an eyebrow at him, before a slow smirk spread across his lips. “I really, really don’t think that matters anymore. So, how long are we - supposed to be here, according to that thing?”

“I haven't read that far. I imagine I have plenty of time to do so. Perhaps all of eternity.”

“You know, I only signed up for up until death do us part,” Will teased, and Hannibal smiled, placing a hand on Will’s knee.

“Then perhaps we are in heaven.”

Will laughed, his head tilted back before he abruptly moved it back forward when it tipped back too far. “I don’t think heaven has your artistic taste.”

The squeeze to his kneecap is warming, especially when everything else feels so cold.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please leave all the comments and kudos you like! I love responding to them!
> 
> Come visit me and find ways to send me love and support (and coffees!!!) on [Tumblr](http://somebodyhelpthenotdeadfreds.tumblr.com)!


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